


The Box

by CaffeinaShips



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, supernatural universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinaShips/pseuds/CaffeinaShips
Summary: The is a Flash Ficlet for @weekendwritingmarathon On Tumblr. The prompt was:You were going through the attic after one of your distant uncle’s died when you found it, the sole occupant of a dust covered box. It went missing when you were a child. Your uncle (great uncle twice removed, you think) was the last person you thought would have it.My story takes place in the Supernatural universe, but does not reference any canon characters or events. It's only Supernatural related in the vaguest sense.





	

The day I heard my Great Great Uncle Thomas died I rushed to his home as soon as I could. I wasn't close to him, I think I only met him twice. The old bastard had a reputation for being cruel for fun. The family rumor was maids and nurses were always quitting, and I didn't need any more shitheads in my life. Loved or hated, whenever a relative died we all knew instantly. We all heard it like a whisper "Thomas Franklin has moved on". Any living relative who could would rush to the home of the deceased, the location glowing in our minds as a very real pin in a mental map. We weren't drawn there spiritually or anything, this isn't a pilgrimage. We are all just greedy, selfish motherfuckers who want to loot first. Lucky me, I was the closest this time.

Thomas Franklin's house is a fairly modest brick estate in the woods of Maine with very little security. I walked through the door and into a grand entryway. The unkempt grounds and pine forest outside hiding the opulence inside. Mahogany and rich leather can be seen everywhere, and the house smells of leather and old books. In a hurry I headed directly for the stairs in front of me, stepping over 'Uncle Thomas' body where he had clearly fallen down the stairs. At his age he probably shouldn't have been climbing staircases anyway, the arrogant prick. Likely no one official even knew he was dead. It occurred to me that other people would call the police. I however headed to the attic without looking back. Others would be arriving soon and I want to find the rarest goods first. I ignored the vases, and paintings and made my way upstairs. My family didn't display the kinds of things I want. 

Sunlight streams through the only window in the attic, and a single bulb swings over the cluttered space. Dust drifts thickly in the sun, and I leave footprints in the dust as I make my way through the antiques, boxes, and garment bags stacked around. The collection of a lifetime of items, now meaningless to anyone, as the only person who cared for them is dead on the floor. I want something with tangible value. In the far corner I spot an old navy trunk trying to look nonchalant under some old coats and behind an old mirror. That is exactly the sort of place my family would stick something precious. I knock items carelessly out of my way as I work my way toward the trunk, drag it out into the light and pry the swollen lid open. 

Oh my God. He had it. It had been him all along. That crusty Sonofabitch. In the bottom of the trunk sat a single wooden box. Dust coated it except where dust could not gather on the magical signs and symbols carved along its surface, making them stand out in sharp contrast to the dull look of the rest of the box. The curse box my family protected for hundreds of years, protected to the death if necessary. We all knew about it, but none of us knew who ended up with it after Uncle Ulysses had died. An older cousin had been the prime suspect, and had his home ransacked several times as a result.

I sit next to the trunk, under the glare of the single bulb and carefully crack the lid. Inside I found what I expected. Nestled in its soft velvet cushion beat the Heart of the Family. I watch it squeeze and release mesmerized. This heart is the fortune, luck, and protection of our family. It keeps us prosperous and privileged. It has been passed down from male heir to male heir for generations. It holds the life-force of every male in my family. My father, grandfather, uncles, and boy cousins hearts all beat in time to this one. Any disruption to this box could end their lives. It is the single most sacred item our family possesses. 

My hands shake slightly as I close the box, from what I have learned to recognize as the first symptoms of withdrawal. "Thank God" I think "this thing is bound to fetch some pretty good money on the black market." Maybe I'll grab something gold on my way out just in case. I get up quickly, cradling the box carefully in my now trembling hands. I need to be far away from here before anyone else shows up. I'm already running through my mental list of buyers. If I can unload this thing without attracting the attention of any hunters I shouldn't have to worry about coming down for months.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is, my first attempt at doing a flash ficlet. I'm going to try to participate every week, so there will likely be more of these. I feel like I should apologize for that.


End file.
